


All Saints' Day

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Making Up, Mental Instability, Necromancy, Sick Animal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cobbling together a new body from pieces of his fallen enemies, Merasmus returns home to try and iron out the little spat he and Soldier had, only to find the mercenary enduring yet more hardship.  Will Lieutenant Bites be okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Saints' Day

Reassembling a corporeal form had never been an easy task. Merasmus was keenly aware of this fact, but never more so than All Saints' Day, when his power had begun to ebb and he was barely clinging to the physical world, a rage spectre without an anchor. So when faced with reconstituting a body, he found himself mired. His body had been destroyed, burned to a crisp. And this day, of all days, when he was threatening to discorporate completely, he had barely the magic to stay extant, let alone create a new body. He had to cobble something together.

An advantage of having rained bombs, urine, and eldritch hell down on the employees of BLU and RED was that there was always a plethora of parts to be found. Gibs were a grizzly fact of life for the mercenaries, but for an ethereal wizard, they were a godsend. It took a bit of doing, a bit of manifestation to move the pieces he needed, but in time, he assembled a workable corpse from the parts available.

Inhabiting the corpse was a simple task, slithering his incorporeal essence in through the abomination's open mouth and bonding himself to the flesh. It ached, stitched together painfully with the barest of magics, scarcely able to move in its ruin, but it was alive and now so was he.

Merasmus sat up, glaring at the world through mismatched eyes. Magic began to slowly well into him, like water trickling into a cup, refilling the stores he'd expended on keeping himself from ceasing to exist. He blinked, out of time with himself, one brown eye closing a moment before a blue one. Of course, he'd had to have picked one of the German's blasted eyes, myopic and fuzzy and slightly too big for the ocular orbit of the chunk of head he had chosen for that part of his face.

Dizziness washed over him and he struggled to close one eye, the lid hardly eager to acquiesce to his command. Dragging himself to his two different feet, he listed awkwardly to one side. The legs were similar, but not quite the same, one the muscular, slim leg of what must have been the loudmouthed American boy, while the other had been wrapped in the shreds of a pin-striped suit. One arm, capped with a stump and a mechanical hand began to work with its counterpart, a gangly one with a wrist-watch and some fingers he had to scavenge together, clawing at the air.

Magic tore from the ambient atmosphere readily, responding eagerly to corporeal touch. Unfettered with maintaining his own conjuration, green motes of energy collected along his patchwork fingers. This body was a paltry mockery at best, a means to an end, and without his own body, his own form, he could barely function. Surely, he was a horrifying amalgam to behold. Gathering his magics, he crushed the energy between awkward hands and intoned words of transmutation, working his arcane will upon the flesh in which he dwelt. “Savini Rambaldi!” he bellowed, voice scratchy and rough, trying to push against a palate shaped all wrong for the chords issuing the sounds, clumsily stumbling past a jaw far too wide for the rest of the head that bore it.

The meat housing his soul pulsed, thrumming with energy and sudden potential. Coated in a shroud of viridian, his flesh began knitting together, melting like fresh wax, molding and smoothing and emerging in ridges. Parts not his own slowly sloughed and sculpted, emerging as the shape he knew so well.

Now, to find something to wear so he didn't have to teleport home naked.

 

*

 

Green and blue sparks streaked from nonexistence to nonexistence, crackling to life and fading, leaving the newly-refurbished body of Merasmus in their wake, standing on the sidewalk outside of the castle he once called home. Now, it was a raccoon sanctuary. He stood slouched in frustration and dishevelment, his thick, shaggy brown hair untamed by his usual skullcap sticking up at odd angles. A body newly given the appearance of years of age and wear and tear clutched a blue tarp around its waist, clutched in a bony, long-fingered hand.

Why in the nine hells had he never bothered to study spells for clothing creation and disguise? He could turn into inanimate objects, but he couldn't summon a decent pair of pants? He snorted his annoyance.

The plastic-shod canvas around Merasmus crinkled as he made his way up the walkway to his former dwelling. His rage spent, his new body so tired, all he wanted was to sleep, and try and figure things out with Soldier.

Soldier.

He wasn't supposed to have another furlough for two weeks. Wasn't he? The wizardry convention was supposed to fall during a work tour, so that the smaller man would be preoccupied with fighting and friends. So why was it that he was home when Merasmus returned? He couldn't have summoned such a legion of raccoons in just a day, or even several. It had to have been at least a week.

A week. Halloween week, always popular amongst the mercenaries for their tendency to have extended furloughs. A week Soldier always looked forward to as a time of merriment and excitement. A week they usually spent together, enjoying the spooky chicanery ambient in the autumn air. Oh, no.

 

*

 

“Merasmus! I'm back early! They extended our furlough! I told you they might! It's great, we get two whole weeks! Just you and me! Lieutenant Bites said he'd look after the Bombinomicon, so we're free to spend time! Well, he didn't say, 'cause he's a raccoon. But he nodded when I asked him. Well, he didn't really nod, so much as sniff at my pocket because I had beef jerky in it, but, well, it's the thought that counts.” Soldier burst into the door of the castle he shared with Merasmus, duffel bag and shovel in hand, grinning so wide his face hurt. It had been a long time since he'd had more than a week on furlough, and he always had such precious little time with the wizard to be together and smile and have fun.

Merasmus didn't smile or have fun nearly enough otherwise.

The castle was empty, no note, no information, just silence and absence. The wizard's more important magical tools had been taken and packed; much of his clothing was missing. His favourite hat, the crazy skull with the missing horn, was missing from the spot where he always set it on his armoire. The bed looked very lonely, all tidy and neat, and Soldier found himself sympathizing with the inanimate object. It had no Merasmus to curl up on it, and he had no Merasmus to do the same to him.

He hadn't called, he hadn't written. He'd just left. For who knows how long.

Soldier dropped his duffel and flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Lieutenant Bites immediately hopped up onto his chest and curled up there, nipping at his hand as he moved to pet the little creature. He was alone, save for the raccoon. Completely alone.

 

*

 

“Soldier?” Merasmus called, stepping in the unlocked door. The castle was a mess, entry hall strewn with raccoons and discarded socks. For some reason, the electric stand mixer from the kitchen was sitting in the corner, plugged in without beaters, the motor whirring away noisily. A wiggle of the wizard's fingers disconnected the machine from the wall outlet, ending the hellish sound. He listened for any further sounds over the soft chittering of the raccoons everywhere. Nothing.

“Solder?” he called again, walking through the hall and into the foyer. He nearly stumbled over an errant plunger. Soft sniffling and muttering caught his ear, impelling Merasmus to charge off in its direction. Something was very, very wrong.

In the kitchen, Soldier knelt, his helmet on the floor beside him, his arms full of a mass of black and grey fur. His head bowed low, his shoulders shook as he tried to control the small sobs that threatened to escape the moment he let his guard down. His quiet words cut through the room, "Lieutenant. Please."

Merasmus stopped dead at the sight, fearing the worst. He knew this day would come someday. Lieutenant Bites was just a raccoon, with a raccoon's lifespan, and a raccoon's habits. Eventually, Soldier would have to say goodbye. He eyed the limp bundle in the American's arms and the slow, stuttered rise and fall of its belly. Bites was alive, but just barely. His tail twitched a bit whenever Soldier shifted, in spite of the man's attempts at holding him gently, carefully. Steeling himself, Merasmus approached, kneeling beside the smaller man, one hand on his shoulder. "Soldier. What happened?"

The mercenary gritted his teeth, his head dropping further. "Lieutenant Bites is sick. He ran off, so I chased him, and I found him in the Jarvis' driveway down the street. He was drinking out of a puddle in the driveway. I took him home, and then he started acting funny. He kept falling over and couldn't walk straight. Then he started throwing up. Then he started to shake. He's-- he's dying. He fell over and can't get up and his eyes are all wobbly."

The wizard's hand ghosted gently over the belly of the barely-alive creature, wiry fur tickling the pads of his fingertips. It didn't look good. "He probably drank antifreeze. The Jenkins' truck is a rusty heap deserving of no less than the scrap yard."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"You are. He's dying, Soldier."

Soldier tried to calm himself, his breaths growing shuddered and erratic. Looking down at his friend, he clenched his jaw so tight it ached. No crying. The Lieutenant wouldn't approve. "Can you fix him?" He turned to the wizard beside him, blue eyes wide, his bottom eyelids laboriously supporting fat tears that were welling there. "With your magic."

"I can try. Non-sentient creatures aren't my forte," Merasmus warned, holding out his hands to the little creature. One palm pressed to Bites' belly, the other flat against the raccoon's forehead, his fingers wrapping around to grasp his whole head. Light seemed to drain from around them, sudden darkness overwhelming the senses. Slowly, motes of green light began to gather.

Soldier watched in forlorn interest, terrified but intrigued, watching the wizard's mouth moving slowly, silently intoning some sort of incantation. His eyes traced the lines of his furrowed brow, his bulbous nose, his thin, pursed lips on his long face. He watched as those dark eyes began to glow a soft green, the colour suffusing his very body slowly, draining away down his arms, to his hands, into Lieutenant Bites. A deep breath entered Merasmus' nose, exiting with an unusually quiet, "Baraitol Arabethelin!"

Magic thrummed through the air, pulsing out from the body of the little raccoon, only to reverse and surge back in, like a tide pulled back from whence it came as it climbed the beach. For moments eternal, unending and unyielding, Bites lay still, Merasmus' hands steaming with remnants of arcane energy. His eyes slowly lost their glow, wide in worry.

Lieutenant Bites' eyes opened, blinking a few times in confusion. The pain was gone, the dizzies were gone. He thrashed in Soldier's arms, chattering softly as he tried to right himself, not too keen to lie on his back. Taking hold of the American's hand, he bit down hard, using the momentary distraction to scamper away, out of the room.

Soldier and Merasmus watched the ungrateful mammal run, relief apparent on each man's features. Turning to his companion, Soldier stood, offering a hand. Merasmus took it, and rose to his feet, forgetting his tarp. The plastic sheet fluttered to the floor in a loud, crinkling mass, leaving him nude. Soldier didn't even bat an eye.

"Merasmus, I, uh. Thanks. For saving Lieutenant Bites. I'm glad you came back when you did."

"Yes, well, I would've been back sooner, but I had to build this new body."

"Uh, yeah. Sorry for setting your old one on fire. And turning the castle into a raccoon sanctuary."

The wizard shook his head and put a hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "And I'm sorry I left you alone. I should have checked to see if that furlough was going through, first, before I made those arrangements."

"I was alone."

"I know," Merasmus felt his heart breaking, wrapping his arms around Soldier. The smaller man couldn't handle being alone. It made him cagey, morose, and prone to extravagant methods of solving his problem in unhealthy ways. Like filling the castle with raccoons, for example. "And I'm sorry. I know you can't be alone. I was callous, assuming your employers were ruthless enough that they wouldn't give you an extended furlough. I should have talked to you about it. Maybe you could have come with me."

Soldier's arms found their way around Merasmus' waist, pulling him close. He lay his head on the older man's bare chest. "Promise you won't ever do that again. Promise me."

"I promise. I'm sorry, Soldier. You deserve better than that."

"Damn right," the smaller man chuckled. "So, you built this body out of spare parts?"

"It was no easy task."

"Any of me in there?"  
"Well, it's all been transmuted to my form, but yes. Yes there is."

"What part?"  
Merasmus looked down to the mercenary with his head pressed to his chest. He smiled and scratched him behind his ear. "You're listening to it right now."

"You already had that before you scrounged it off the battlefield."

**Author's Note:**

> requested by an anonymous tumblr user


End file.
